


Scar Tissue

by gendryw4ters



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Modern AU, Record store au, and luz is just trying his best, emotional brick wall joe toye is back at it again, i guess its not super angsty but ya know what i mean, its more serious than the other two at least, joe centric i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendryw4ters/pseuds/gendryw4ters
Summary: Joe had lost his mind.At least, that was what he was pretty sure must have happened, as he tried the doorbell for a second time.





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> this one's a lil (lot) more serious than the other two so im a little anxious about how it's gonna go down
> 
> set post-spice girls (the fic AND the band this time), joe centric, trash
> 
> hope you enjoy it nonetheless! and once again, unbetad and no disrespect intended x
> 
> ps this title has been changed 4 maybe 100 times and im not even convinced it makes sense

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't lonely.  

Joe knew he would be, he'd known it for a while in fact. He'd sort of come to terms with it, really, the feeling of never quite belonging- even if he always was surrounded by friends he knew cared for him deeply.  

But that, well, that was half of the trouble.   

His friends did care about him, he was pretty sure of that, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to open up to them.  
  
About the loneliness. About the accident. About anything. 

He'd settled on a (probably unhealthy) habit of making slightly darker than usual jokes whenever he wasn't feeling so good, finding it decisively easier to make fun of himself than he did actually sitting down and talking about feelings. 

Which might be why he wasn't only A) a little taken aback by Luz pulling him into the back room after a particular quip (something about only sticking around to see the Game of Thrones finale), but B) more than a little standoffish about it. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Well, what? Yeah, 'course I am," he had grumbled in reply, cursing himself for being so obtuse. "Look, we gotta get back to work, there's a lot of stuff to do- it's busy-" 

"It's not busy, it literally never is," George cut him off, folding his arms in a move so stern that once again Joe toyed with the idea that he'd been replaced by a hyper-realistic more sensible cyborg. His brow had furrowed with concern, "Joe, you think I don't know when someone's joking to cover up something els-" 

"You know what? Yeah, I do," and there it was. Classic aggression. Classic Joe. He mentally kicked himself, knowing he should've just taken the chance to say _something._ But he was in the swing of it now, so he figured there was no going back. "You don't have any fucking idea, 'cause I'm not. It was just a joke. End of, back to work." 

And then those bony fingers had taken hold of his wrist again, and Joe hated how he'd almost missed the feeling of them there. It had only happened once before, when he'd accidentally confessed to finding the other hot. It was still a source of jokes between his coworkers, and though at first it had bothered him, he'd learned to let it go. 

What he couldn't let go of was George's admission that he thought the same about _him_. There'd been so much joking around that afternoon that he'd struggled to take it seriously, and later decided that it mustn't have been. There was no way George was saying it out of anything other than politeness, right? He was face saving, or whatever that concept was he'd been taught in that linguistics class he wished he'd never taken. 

"George, let _go,"_ he'd insisted gruffly, shaking his arm free of the other's grasp. "I'm fine. Gonna go see if Bill needs any help with reaching the high up shelves." He raised his voice a little, huffing out a laugh at the indignant "fuck you Toye!" he received in response. Involving Bill had given him a better excuse to escape, which he did so eagerly- trying to ignore the worried looks George kept throwing him throughout the rest of the day. 

Besides, there was no way George had meant it when he'd called him hot, he thinks later that night, joint balanced haphazardly between his fingertips as he lay staring up at the ceiling. He'd begun smoking occasionally to help with his leg, though lately he'd often found it only really led to daydreaming about George.  

 _George._ Who might well have called him hot, but who was a flirt by nature. Hell, he'd even managed to charm the famously quiet Gene Roe into chatting with him, after the latter had come to visit Babe on one of his very rare days off.  

George had earned himself the nickname Homewrecker with that one, with Babe laughing and calling it out over his shoulder as he left arm in arm with his boyfriend- declaring that he deserved an afternoon off since the two of them didn't get to hang out much anymore. George had just cackled in response, yelling something along the lines of being "more of an invader than a wrecker, really." 

Toye found himself snorting a laugh at the memory, though it came out as more of a sigh.    
  
Part of him (okay, all of him) wished that George _had_ meant what he'd said. Figures it'd be nice to not be so alone. 

He thinks back to their earlier interaction; fingers ghosting over the spot that George's had curled around so gently in the dark back room. He hated himself a little for not taking the opportunity to let somebody in, but then remembered how things had gone the last time he'd done so, and figured maybe the walls could stay up just a little longer. Just in case.  

He'd bitten his nails almost all the way down to the beds by the time he finally fell asleep that night. He was glad he didn't have George's number.

Worries he might have found himself doing something stupid if he did.  

* * *

_Luz Mondays_ were a thing now, and all though he'd been a little (okay, no, very) irked by them at first, Joe had to admit that he'd sort of come to enjoy them over time. Told himself it was because he'd been conditioned to, cracking jokes with the others about feeling like he was in Guantanamo Bay. He didn't like to dwell on the fact that it was George's obvious delight at being able to play such shit that makes the shit far less unbearable, or that the smile that lit up his entire _being_ was infectious as hell. 

So he'd been a little surprised to turn up for work that next Monday morning and to not be greeted by some trashy, late nineties nostalgia song blaring through the speakers at an obscenely loud volume. Bill and Babe had only shrugged in response when he'd voiced his confusion, with the latter reminding him of the fact that Nick Cave _was_ on the Shrek soundtrack, thus rendering the music still "technically meme-y." 

George himself was nowhere to be seen, and Joe was worried. Worried not only about his coworker's absence, but the fact that he was _worried_ at all. It wasn't like he didn't worry about his friends when they weren't around, he'd had himself pegged as a pretty caring guy after all. But _this_ , this felt different somehow. Different, like how different it felt to graze a knuckle one day and put a fist through a wall the next (Joe would know.) 

He'd been about to go on his usual coffee run, not even bothering to ask the other's for their orders (if in doubt, Americanos always seemed to go down okay), when the door had swung open to reveal a dishevelled looking George already cradling what looked to be everyone's regular orders; even Joe's. 

"Oh, uh, hey," he had stammered a little, cheeks flushed red with the cold. "Sorry, beat ya to it I guess."  

Joe barely had time to open his mouth before Babe had burst seemingly out of nowhere beside him, having been lured away from the CDs he was stacking by the promise of a caffeine hit.  

" _Fuck_ yeah! Even got cream and everything," he'd grinned, gleefully nabbing both his and Bill's cups from George's hands, "no offence Joe, but George is the better coffee-getter, at least this time- hey! Hey Bill! We actually got the coffees we wanted for once!" 

"Sweet!" Had come a cry from the back room, shortly followed by a laugh of "love you George!" 

"Love you too Bill," George had called out in reply, and if he'd maintained eye contact with Joe whilst doing so in the hopes of gauging a reaction, well, Joe just wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.  

And even if the harmless joke _had_ made him feel a little sick inside, he'd just blame it on all the sugar in whatever it was that George had gotten him in lieu of his usual black filter. 

* * *

"Hey Joe, Babe and I are going to get lunch, you want anything?" 

"No, I'm fine, not hungry thanks," he had muttered tersely, never once glancing up from the pile of paperwork he'd been steadily working his way through all afternoon. He'd had half a mind to call Nixon and tell him to get on with himself, it was his fucking business after all, before realising that hiding out in the back room filling it in all day would finally let him get George out of his hair for a while. 

Not that George had even really been in his hair all that much, he supposed. He’d just been… Quieter, than usual, and in many ways Joe had found that much more unsettling. He'd also been far more attentive than normal, asking Joe if there was anything he needed more often than Joe felt he'd been asked in his entire life- even by Babe, who was a notorious mother hen at his most fussy (and more of a slightly overbearing aunt at his least).  

"Look Joe, ya gotta eat something, it's been a long da-" George had begun, without a hint of his usual sarcasm.

And, without knowing what else to really do in that situation, Joe snapped. 

"When'd I hire you to be my caretaker, huh? I told ya, I'm fine."  

"What the fuck is your problem with me, Joe?" George had his full attention now, his raised voice making Joe flinch a little. "I- I get it okay, I get that Luz brand humour isn't for everyone. I get that I'm annoying. But I'm trying to be nice here, don't you see that? Ya gotta-" There was a frustrated pause as he tried to find the words he wanted, "ya gotta stop shutting everyone out. Whatever the fuck your deal is, talk to someone about it." 

And that was it, Joe saw red.

“What the fuck is _my_ deal?! What the fuck is _yours?!”_ He had yelled, no longer caring if any customers overheard him or not. “What, you fucking major in psychology or something? Leave me the fuck alone Luz, I don't want anything to do with ya. I’m gonna finish this paperwork and then I’m gonna go home. Why are you even asking me, huh? What the fuck has it got to do with you?” 

He had regret the words as soon as they’d left his mouth, the hurt they’d caused written all over George’s face.

“You know what?” George had replied, the little crack in his voice as good as breaking Joe’s heart in two, “you’re fucking right. Sorry I ever cared. Have a wonderful fucking day.” 

And with that he was gone, leaving a reeling Joe to finish filling out the forms in peace. 

Joe wondered idly, later that day, if Babe had finally cracked and told the others about his leg- despite swearing that he wouldn't. Wonders if that's why George had toned his antics down all of a sudden, why he'd decided that today of all days was the one to be caring on.

Decides he doesn’t want to wonder if George's kindness was genuine (especially when he knows the answer to that already), doesn't want to think about the pitying looks he'd be receiving for weeks to come if it wasn't. 

Which it was. He knows it was. 

* * *

Joe had lost his mind.    
   
At least, that was what he was pretty sure must have happened, as he tried the doorbell for a second time. He was clutching a bunch of flowers behind his back, bouncing nervously on his heels. He’d been ready to just leave them on the step and call it a night by the time he’d finally heard the lock click open, a sheepish looking Luz poking his head out from behind the door. 

“Sorry, couldn't find my ke- oh,” his face fell a little, and it killed Joe to know it was entirely his fault. “It’s you.” 

“Yeah,” Joe nodded, not trusting himself to say much else just yet. “It’s me.” There was an uncomfortable pause, and then; “I brought you some flowers- to, to say sorry- I mean.”  

The door swung open a little wider, and Joe was somewhat distraught to learn that even in only sweatpants and a too-big shirt, George was still ridiculously good looking. 

“Flowers, huh?” George had hummed thoughtfully, inspecting the bunch that had been thrust anxiously in his direction. A small smile flickered on his lips as he finally met Joe's gaze and took them out of his hands. “Didn’t really have you down as a flowers type of guy.” 

“Yeah, well," and Joe knew he was blushing at this point, scratching the back of his neck out of habit. "I’m sorry- about earlier, I mean. I’m sorry for being an asshole. You didn't deserve any of that, you were just trying to be nice. More than can be said for me, in any case.”  

“Hey," came George's soft reply, fingers reaching tentatively out towards Joe's hand, as though maybe he'd been planning on interlocking the two. He retracted them awkwardly, cheeks flushing pink. "I shouldn't have been prying. You, uh, you wanna come in?” 

Joe hesitated for a moment before nodding It wasn't like he had anywhere else he needed to be, after all. 

* * *

Of all the way's Joe had pictured George's apartment looking, this had been the last thing he'd expected. A shrine to The Spice Girls, maybe. Bright, garish wallpaper at the very least. Hell, even some kind of weird sex-dungeon type setup had crossed his mind more often than once. 

But this, this felt a little too... "Minimalist?" 

"Huh?" George looked up from where he'd been busy shoving magazines and papers he’d had lying around into a somewhat neater looking pile. The flowers had already been left in the sink, with George promising to find a vase for them later that night. 

“Minimalist,” Joe repeated, taking in the surprising lack of furniture, save for the sofa, a coffee table and a TV. Even the walls were mostly bare, apart from a couple of framed Tarantino posters (that Joe decides he would totally steal, if he ever found himself in some kind of post-apocalyptic, purge style scenario). “I didn't have ya down as the type.” 

“More room for dancing,” George winked, with only a hint of his usual mirth. He carried on with the task at hand. "Sorry, if I’d known you were coming I woulda done this sooner. You can sit in the Luz shaped spot if you want. You know, we really should swap numbers sometime." 

"Yeah... What're those?" Joe had frowned, gesturing toward the box of toys he'd spotted tucked away next to the table and glad of an opportunity to change the subject. "Got a secret lovechild or something?" 

"Hmm? Oh, nah," George's sheepish grin was nothing short of adorable, and Joe was suddenly finding it difficult to meet his eyes. "Nine younger siblings. And one surprise nephew." 

"Surprise?" 

"Well, I say that, I knew about it. Don’t think Mom did though," he shrugged, before throwing Joe another one of his light-up-the-room smiles. "He's soo cute, you wouldn't believe it. Like a tiny me." 

Joe snorted, finally taking the seat he'd been offered earlier. An all too familiar ache licked up his lower leg, and he hissed in pain- forgetting for a moment the company he was in. George frowned at him for a moment, but didn't press the matter, and Joe wondered if it was because he'd given up caring for real. Still, he mustered a teasing smile. "Full of yourself, aren't ya?" 

"Well I mean, you _did_ say I was hot."  

"Yeah, I did."  

George's eyes snapped up to meet Joe's in an instant, and the latter felt his heart thudding just that little bit quicker. This was either the best or stupidest thing he'd ever said in his entire life, but he tried his best to continue, "what, you think you just made it happening up or something?" He tried his best to laugh it off, squirming under the other's narrowed gaze.  

“Look I," George began, staring down at the magazines in his hands. He gave a sigh and threw them into the basket, perching himself on the corner of the table to look at Joe once more. "I don't- I don't want to annoy you again, but... What _is_ going on, Joe?” 

"How?" 

“Huh?” 

“How can you tell," Joe's voice was oddly calm, surprising even himself. He'd surpassed his own expectations by not kicking off again there and then. He swallowed the lump in his throat, maybe the jig was finally up. "I mean, why are you so sure something's up?” 

“Because…" And if Joe's calmness was unnerving, Luz's quiet uncertainty was something else entirely. "Because you seem unhappy, like, unhappier than regular Joe. And I know you were only joking, but still. I know a cover up when I hear one." 

"George-" 

"Trust me." And suddenly George's fingertips were grazing Joe's chin, tilting his face up towards him, and it becomes clear that it's not just an assurance, or an offer. It's a promise that he can. 

Joe shook his head free of the other's touch, though he didn't push him away entirely, just moved across the sofa to make some room for him. "I can't- I... What do you want to know?" 

"Your leg, for starters." 

"Bit pushy, don’t ya think?" And though the laugh was hollow, it was free of any underlying malice. 

George just grinned, stretching his legs across Joe's as if to trap him in place. "Pushy's my middle name. Actually, I don't have one. But if I did I'd want it to be something cool." 

"George 'Something Cool' Luz, huh, whaddaya know? Suits ya." 

"You're diverting." 

"Car crash, next question." It was sharp, sure. But it was nothing compared to when he usually snapped, so George had remained entirely untroubled.  

"Still cause you a lot of pain?" 

"Figurative or literal?" It felt strange to Joe, to joke about something he'd kept hidden away for so long. Sure, joking about things he shouldn't have been was how he'd ended up here in the first place, but to do so so explicitly just felt... Odd. 

George quirked an eyebrow at that, "both, I suppose. Had no idea you were such a troubled man. Shoulda guessed from the brooding looks and the emo vibes I suppose."  

There was a pause, and Joe finally forced his eyes to meet George's again. The silence that befell them was broken only by a snort of laughter from George, followed by another from Joe, and soon the two of them had found themselves almost unable to breathe with it.   

"I don't have emo vibes, what the fuck does that even mean?" Joe eventually choked out once they'd managed to calm themselves down a little. 

"I dunno Joe, you sure listen to The Cure a lot, should call 'em Tragic Toyesdays," George was still shaking a little, his leg bouncing on top of Joe's. He glanced at it for a moment, as if wondering whether to move it or not, but decided it was fine right where it was. "And you're always so broody looking, you're like if Twilight were a person." 

"Well fuck you too." 

"Look, I'm sorry man," George hiccuped, and Joe wasn't sure he could say he'd ever seen someone beam before, but here George was doing just that. It suited him, he thought, the way his whole being seemed to brighten up. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh so much before, you should do it more. It's a nice laugh. 'Course, if you don't wanna ruin the _vibes_ you've spent so long cultivating-" 

"I don't have any fucking vibes, Luz." 

"Uh huh, course not," George was still smirking a little, though he sobered himself up surprisingly fast. "Not to, uh, not to ruin the good time, but-" 

"The nerves are all fucked up, I'm lucky I didn't lose it entirely," Joe had shrugged, all trace of a smile now gone. "Was my own fault, anyways. Well, if we're getting really down to it, then it wasn't, but... I brought it on myself being so, y'know, _moody._ " 

"Joseph Toye? Moody? No, we must be talking about different Joes," and whilst his teasing smile was back, George's gaze had remained soft. "What happened? That too far?" 

"Nah, it's... It's... Fine." And it was, Joe realised. Talking to George wasn't the same as talking to the others, not at all. It was easy, like the words were all lined up ready to just tumble out the second he opened his mouth. It scared him a little, how badly he wanted to spill. How badly he wanted George to understand. He laughed a little, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. "You know, I always kinda thought I'd be have to be high when I finally cracked." 

"You smoke?" It wasn't an accusation, nor was it uttered in disgust. If anything, bewilderment. "I never had you down as a stoner." 

"'m not, it's mostly for my leg." 

"Where'd ya get it?" Curious, not intrusive. 

"Roe." 

"Roe?! Babe's Roe? Sweet little Eugene? Is... A _dealer?!_ " George gasped, eyes almost bugging out of his head. Even then, Joe thought, he was still cute.

"Not a dealer, just well connected. With the _hospital_ ," Joe added, not wanting to incriminate the love of Babe’s life any further. He didn't want to think about what might happen if Gene ended up in prison because of a minor miscommunication. His head would probably end up on a stick outside of the shop; Stark style. 

"Gotcha," George winked, "what the feds don't know won't hurt 'em-" 

 _"George."_  

"I know, I know," he laughed warmly, daring to bring a hand up to muss up Joe's hair. Joe found himself enjoying the touch more than he was willing to admit, only barely managing to resist the urge to lean into it.

"But anyway," George's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "so what if you're not high, probably for the best right? At least now you're sober you can hold back all of those filthy thoughts about me." 

Joe froze. Had he said something out loud? 

"Joe? Hey, hey, I was only joking, promise," George sounded worried, genuinely so, and Joe allowed himself to relax once again.  

He forced a laugh, and what he hoped was a teasing smile. "You're not my type anyways." Wondered if he had imagined the brief look of hurt that flickered across George's face. 

Joe thought he must have, as George had only smiled after that, prodding him lightly in the side. "Quit stalling, spill." 

And Joe did.

* * *

He told him about his ex, about all the fighting. About storming out after their worst (and final) argument, slamming the car door and just driving away. About not seeing the other car. About being alone at the hospital, and all throughout rehabilitation. About still feeling like he was, even with all of his friends around him.

He didn't think George Luz had ever been so quiet before in his entire life.

When he finally finished, he'd almost debating bowing; instinctively wanting to laugh it off just like he always had done.

But George's hand was on his thigh (he wondered when that had gotten there), and his deep brown eyes were swimming.

" _Joe_."

"I don't want your pity, George. You wanted to know and now you do." He'd cut him off a little gruffly, not wanting any more hollow apologies about 'not knowing', of which he'd already had many.

The silence that fell over them wasn't awkward, just pensive. 

"You deserve better, you know that, right?"

George's hand had moved from Joe's thigh, coming up to cup his face once more, and his breath hitched a little as Joe remained still as ever; not twitching away as he had done the first time.

"You deserve better, Joe. You deserved better all along. And- and I appreciate you telling me, thank you."

Joe stalled, not fully knowing how to respond.

"I... No, thanks for letting me say it. I- it was nice, to let someone in. Real weight off, y'know?" And it was. Joe felt lighter then than he had done in months, and found the sensation a little dizzying. "You really think I deserve better?"

George chewed his bottom lip for a moment, averting his gaze from Joe's before nodding. "Look... You, you might not think all that much of yourself, but... For what it's worth, I do. You're strong, and like, not just physically either- I mean, I know you could probably bench press me, and that's hot as  _fuck-_ " He paused, as if wondering whether he should have said it or not, before huffing out a laugh and continuing nonetheless. "You're great, and you deserve great things."

"So  _you_ think  _I'm_ hot, huh?" 

"Oh fuck off, you know I always have done," came a snappy retort, though it was completely devoid of bite. "I fucking told you so already, or did you forget that, huh  _Sporty_?"

"Honestly? Didn't think ya meant it," Joe had shrugged, laughing a little at George's answering whine of frustration. "What? I have cripplingly low self esteem, wasn't that evident from my  _tragic backstory?_ _"_ He was laughing fully now, his shoulders shaking with it, and it warmed his heart to hear the other begin to join in. 

"God, you really are a troubled man, aren't you?" George had chuckled, swiping a thumb over Joe's flushed cheeks.

"Yeah." A pause. "But I could be yours, if you wanted me to be." And just like that, all of Joe's cards were on the table. He figured he didn't have all that much left he could lose.

George's jaw had dropped wide open, and Joe resisted the urge to warn him about catching flies.

"You- what- I mean, well gee, when you put it like that..." He gave an incredulous laugh, pulling his hand away from Joe's face to push through his hair, "I mean, I could really used a troubled man in my life, y'know?"

"Someone's gotta counteract your endless joy and energy with a couple of edgy emo vibes, haven't they?"

And if Joe could only ever see one last thing before he died, he'd decided that he'd want it to be the smile George had given him in return. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a playlist for this fic also, in case that tickles ya pickle: https://playmoss.com/en/gendryw4ters/playlist/toyesday-tunes
> 
> I'm not so sure about this one as much as the others so any feedback would be welcomed with open arms! I hope you enjoyed it though, and that I got the characterisation right! 
> 
> As always, gendryw4ters on tumblr if you wanna discuss anything or hit me with some sweet constructive criticism <3
> 
> (also if you want to do my english coursework that i was supposed to be writing instead of finishing this)


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